


Through the Valley

by TheLadyFrost



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types, The Last of Us
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood and Gore, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Ellie - Freeform, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, LeonKennedy, Raccoon City, Resident Evil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost/pseuds/TheLadyFrost
Summary: A world without hope. A man without purpose. A bond formed in blood. And the only hope for survival in their trembling hands. The world is against them. The time is running out. And she's the only person on Earth with the antibodies to stop it. What price are you willing pay, to save a world gone to hell? AU Last of Us style apocalyptic. Leon, Chris, Ellie. Claire and other cameos. No Joel - I can't write him well enough. He deserves a better pen than mine.





	1. Chapter 1

-The Last Man Standing –

His hands were shaking.

Trembling.

The fingernails, crusty with dried blood, were cracked and jagged. The hand he held out before him trembled...until he curled it into a fist. There was a quiet strength found in the symbol of power that remained.

Fear shivered.

It lingered.

Although the bodies that littered the small house were long dead.

In a pool of blood, in a spill of broken wood, the first was on its belly. It was impossible to know if it had been male or female - there wasn't enough left of the face to tell.

The second lay half curled over the bathtub, hunched against the chipped and peeling porcelain. The curtain was half torn from the wall where it had fallen - blown back and way by a heavy round to the chest. The neck was brutally twisted, deformed, and resting on the opposite shoulder. The sightless eyes of the fallen stared at the far wall, mired in a spill of brain matter and blood. The skull was bashed in, offering a view of cerebral edema and crumpled bone.

The hallway collected the remnants of the last. The head was shoved through the rotting, sagging, shattered drywall; the sheetrock having fallen in a dusting of white and chunks around the filthy flannel shirt had worn. This one wasn't long dead - it was still twitching in the after shocks of death. The head had caved in upon itself like a broken egg.

His fingers lowered, they strummed a few chords on the flawless guitar in his filthy lap. The engraving at the strap told the story of the strength of its purpose: Excalibur - the sword of heroes. A trickle of blood spilled down the side of his face, a smooth red line of survival. The music filled the quiet cool air, poignant, haunting and heralding his victory over his enemies.

Through the Valley* filled the silent house - punctuated by the call of a bird somewhere in the waiting wilderness.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all  
And my mind and my gun they comfort me  
Because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come

He strummed, almost lazily now, eyes closed and feeling it.

He heard the footsteps as they moved through the house.

Beside him, on the bed, his gun waited beside the bloodied comrade of a ball-peen hammer.

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life  
And I will dwell on this earth forevermore  
Still I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul  
But I can't walk on the path of the right because I'm wrong

The sound of approach filled his ears. The song continued, undaunted, as his courage was. He was trembling...but he was no longer afraid.

The doorway darkened. But it wasn't an enemy.

Not this time...not yet.

Not today.

Well I came upon a man at the top of a hill  
Called himself the savior of the human race  
Said he come to save the world from destruction and pain  
But I said how can you save the world from itself

The voice spilled around him, smooth and cool. As was the man in the doorway, "What did you decide? We're out of time here."

The chords of music spilled around them, a cocoon of homage to the fallen.

A song of survival. A symphony of revenge.

A dare to those who'd come against him.

'Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
And I'll fear no evil 'cause I'm blind  
And I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul  
But I know when I die my soul is damned

His eyes opened. The filthy window beside him was cracked and crumbling. It was overgrown with moss and mold.

The house was ripe with death.

But his determination was born anew. Arisen.

As he was, to seek his vengeance.

He spoke, low and trembling with rage. As his hand had. As his soul did, at the promise of redemption.

"...I'm going to kill every last one of them."

They shared a long look. The grizzled man in the doorway. The filthy man on the bed, clutching his sword of justice - his instrument of revenge. Excalibur.

The grizzled man intoned, "Good. We're running out of daylight."

"We have what we need. More than. But them? They're dead where they stand."

The final chords of the song filled the quiet house. A bond for them. A chorus of their vengeance.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all  
And my mind and my gun they comfort me  
Because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come  
.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

A/N: *Through the Valley is the song Ellie is playing in the Last of Us trailer that, naturally, inspired me here. If I ever finished anything, or I just one shot this as an internal rambling, this will follow a similar idea.

It's an AU concept leaving our two favorite heroes in a world gone to shit. I foresee it feeling like the Last of Us or the Walking Dead in terms of apocalyptic survival and desperation. Darker than anything I've ever written.

It will tie to Resident Evil in how the world ended. But I don't think I'll have our favorite people in their traditional roles. Just average people trying to survive. It'll follow Chris and Leon I think (as we see them here in this scene). And Ellie.


	2. The Last of Us

-The Last of Us –

"No...damnit Chris...No...he's the director ok? I can't say no. I can't...fuck...we'll talk about this later, ok?"

His voice woke her from a dream about swimming in a bowling alley.

He tossed the phone on the table. She shifted and smiled up at him as he hit the light and sat down beside on her on the couch where she'd been snoozing.

He looked so tired, her Dad, and kinda great. The white t-shirt was soft as she rolled over and hugged him. He patted her back and kissed her forehead.

"You should be in your room sleeping, kid."

"Pfft. Sleeps overrated. Shit!"

"Language."

Rolling her eyes, Faith sat up on her knees and squinted at the clock, "What time is it?"

"I dunno. Half passed time for you to get your ass to bed."

"Again - pfft. It's still Tuesday." She rolled off the couch and reached under it, poking her tongue between her teeth. Curious, her Dad watched her.

"Whatcha doin there?"

"Getting your gift!" She handed him the little box. "It's your birthday remember?"

"...actually I forgot." He took the box and opened it. It was a nice piece, the watch inside, and fit him perfectly.

Faith laughed delightedly, "See? You said your other one was crap. So?"

He put it to his ear, looking concerned, "Hmm. It's broke. Sorry, kid. I could fix it...but I don't have the time."

She rolled her eyes. He was always punning. It was stupid. She grabbed his wrist, irritated, "No! No way man! WTF." She put it to her ear and listened. It was ticking perfectly.

Amused, she tossed his hand away, "Jerkface."

Her Dad chuckled and flicked on the television, "Where'd you get the money for this anyway?"

"Prostitution. I'm a hooker."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah, and I sell drugs on the side. Hardcore ones."

"Nice. You can start helping pay the mortgage. I was getting sick of your freeloading anyway."

Faith laughed and laid down on the couch again beside him, "Or...you could ask Mom to start paying the child support."

"Hah. No. Just...no. Better she stays gone."

Faith's pixie short blonde hair and big blue eyes always made him happy. She was the only light in his very limited world. He didn't care if her mother ever showed up again. Life was better with her gone.

And it was better with Faith as his copilot on the crazy train to single dad-dom.

He petted her hair and kissed her forehead again, "Thanks, you brat. I love it."

"Good. I stole it. So I can't really return it. Hey, Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you know that stealing someone's coffee is called "mugging"?"

So maybe she was always punning too.

He laughed and Faith drifted off to sleep again.

The clock awoke her.

She was deeply sleeping and dreaming about Garrett Morgan FINALLY kissing her. In front of the whole school, in the middle of the quad, and right in the face of Penny Hargrove...and the clock on her phone chimed the hour.

Rolling - Faith glanced at the time: 2:11 a.m.

Rubbing her eyes, she eased up on her bed. Her back was cricking on her. She was a little stuffy from allergies. And her Dad's t.v. was still sending shadows down the hallway.

Throwing her thin legs over the side of the bed, she rose and moved to her dresser to grab the birthday card still waiting there. Apparently, he hadn't come home like he'd thought he would after all. It was still there.

The inscription was classic them: You hate my friends. Pretty sure you hate my hair. You despise my music (anything without a single acoustic guitar clearly offends you). You can't stand most of my generation (OMG! I think you're just jealous tbh.) But you're still the best Dad in the world. I wish you were home more and worked less (you could ANYTIME ask Mom for child support. She can afford it ya know.) I love you. Happy birthday old guy. (You're the youngest Dad in my class.) - Faith

She left the card on the dresser and moved into the hallway, rolling her stiff neck.

The house was dark and the lighting from her Dad's cracked door muted.

Faith opened his door, calling softly, "Dad? You home?"

His bed was tousled and the dresser drawers half opened. His bathroom was spotless and the shower doors foggy like he'd been in there recently. The t.v. was stuck on the news and the pretty reporter with the nametag Ashcroft and the fantastic Vera Wang red suit was standing with the backdrop of a fire.

"The hospitals are overrun. The rioting is out of control. Local authorities are waiting for more federal assistance by the National Guard but the number of reputed attacks is growing. There doesn't seem to be much hope for help at this point and local law enforcement continues to encourage you to stay indoors whenever possible, don't answer random knocks from strangers, and avoid attempting to flee the city. Outlying townships, currently, are safer than urban areas. Again, it's stressed to STAY INSIDE."

A shout from behind the reporter had her turning.

"Sir! Please back up, we're on the air."

But he didn't back up.

The man attacked the pretty reporter. She screamed, the cameraman dropped the camera to try to help and the screen went dark.

Faith blinked, blinked again, and wondered what kind of stupid horror movie her Dad had been watching anyway.

Some dumb zombie shit, clearly. He was ALWAYS watching stupid zombie movies.

As if that kind of apocalyptic crap would ever happen. They lived in the most boring town on Earth. Even the name: Raccoon City, was boring. It was as boring a raccoon. And twice as stupid.

Faith went downstairs, still calling softly for her Dad. She heard the neighbor's German Shepherd dog, Charlie, outside barking like mad at the wind most likely. He barked at everything.

The dining room was dense and dark with shadows. Faith bypassed the table and moved into the kitchen. She helped herself to some juice and heard the loud jingle that signaled her Dad's phone was getting a text.

"He must be here then." She picked up his iPhone from the counter and glanced at it.

"Eight messages? Geez. What's the 911 anyway?" The last message was from fifteen minutes prior.

It was from her Uncle Chris (honorary Uncle anyway. He and her honorary Aunt Claire were her Dad's best friends in the world).

It was urgent and full of caps. "Where the fuck are you!? Stay there. Lockdown. We're on the way."

"At two in the morning?" Faith rubbed her tired eyes again, "WTF man."

She turned and moved into the study where her Dad's desk was. It was scattered with papers.

Outside, Charlie let a high pitched yelp and went quiet. Faith froze, listening. Her eyes turned to the sliding glass door beside her. The tire swing off the front porch was swinging like a ghost had taken up residence on it for a good time.

She squinted into the dark, trying to see anything.

Beyond the horizon, the skyline erupted in flames. Horrified, Faith slapped a hand over her mouth. The world was burning in red and orange and terror. Something had blown up toward the town square.

They lived far enough outside the city limits that it was distant and frightening but if you stepped outside, you wouldn't be able to smell the burning.

What had happened!?

She eased forward to look further into the dark and something moved.

Faith whispered, scared now, "Charlie?"

The sliding glass door was jerked open so abruptly that she scrambled back with a squeak, grabbing for the desk where her Dad kept his gun.

But it was just him. Just her Dad.

Kinda her Dad.

He was flecked with blood and sweaty.

And he looked terrified.

He slammed the door, throwing the lock. "Daddy?"

"Faith -baby. Honey. Get back from the door ok? Get back." He moved to the desk and jerked it open. She watched him snatch up his Magnum and snap the magazine in. He hit the safety and jerked the chamber, jacking a round into the ready position.

Eyes wide, Faith could feel her panic starting. "Daddy? What's happening?"

He grabbed her thin arm and put her into his side, squeezing her a little. "It's not good, kiddo. Stay with me. And let's go. Ok?"

"Go where? What's wrong? What's that fire out there? I...saw the news. Was that real?!"

He scooped a hand back through the heavy shag of his hair and it stayed back, slicked off his face with sweat and grime. "Not now, baby. Ok? Just move. Get your inhaler and let's go."

Faith hurried into the kitchen and rooted through the drawer for her inhaler. Her asthma was already acting up with fear. She took a sharp breath with the bronchodilator

Her neighbor Jack burst into their house in a shower of shattered glass, her Dad shouted, "JACK! Stay down!"

And Jack leaped for him.

She'd been dreaming of kissing a boy for the first time.

Instead?

Her Dad shot her neighbor in the head while she watched.

Faith made a small moan of fear and swayed where she stood. Jack went down on his back, blown off his feet by the heavy round. He smashed into the wall and was still, bleeding all over the tile floor.

"...Daddy..?"

Her Dad turned and moved toward her. There was nothing on his face now but some kind of calm sense of survival that steadied her. He grabbed her hand and pulled, drawing her toward the front door.

The front door was kicked open and her Dad threw her away. She hit the couch and went over it, falling to the floor to crouch behind it with a shout of fear, and from the edge of it she saw her Dad engage the guy who'd kicked the door in in mortal combat.

They grunted. They threw punches. Her Dad was so FAST. Had he always been that fast?

How was a scientist able to move like that!?

The big guy grabbed him, her Dad locked arms with him and jerked, and she watched her Dad ROLL OVER THE OTHER GUYS BACK. Like...a ninja or something.

They spun and were facing off over their guns at each other.

Her Dad...

And her Uncle Chris.

"DADDY!"

She came out from behind the couch and they lowered their weapons.

Chris said, "Sorry. Shit. You ok?"

"I'm fine. Let's go. Claire?"

"In the car."

Faith hurried toward them and her Uncle Chris scooped her up like he'd done a thousand times since she was a toddler. "Hey, midget. You ok?"

"I'm ok. What's happening?!"

"I don't know. But we're blowing this popsicle stand."

"Sounds good to me!"

He carried her out to his big SUV and poked her in the back. Her Aunt Claire was already in the driver's seat. Her Dad hopped in the back with her, Chris threw himself into the passenger seat, and Claire backed up sharply.

The farmhouse faded away as they moved and Faith felt some kind of grief over it as they drove away.

Claire said, "Faith, baby, you ok?"

"I'm ok. I'm ok."

"Good." She turned her head to her Dad, "You alright?"

"Better than Jack. You know what this is?"

"Can't say I do. Looks biological. I can't get any information on anything. Servers are down. The goddamn Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company went global a week ago with that cancer vaccine - the answer to years of research. No more battling the big C. Remember?"

Her Dad was so quiet.

Her Uncle Chris was so quiet.

But their faces weren't quiet. Their faces said they knew more than they wanted to say with her sitting there.

And finally, her Dad said, "Yeah. I know. What have you heard?"

Chris answered now, as Claire turned and followed the signs for the highway. They passed the Baker Farm and found it on fire. Faith watched it burn. Poor Jack. Poor Marguerite and their two kids Lucas and Zoe. She knew what had happened to Jack. She hoped the rest had made it out alive.

"Widespread. The radio went down about the time we hit your house. But it's not just Raccoon City. It was East to West coast last they were reporting. It's fucking bad. It's pandemic."

Claire made a small sound of horror, "Jesus. What the hell happened? They were touting the cure for cancer...and now the world is on fire. What's happening here?"

Her Dad turned and cuddled her closer. Faith gripped his shirt, shaking.

And he said, "Keep driving. It's all we can do."

But everyone else had the same idea. Because the road to the highway three deep with people trying to flee.

It was a brake light graveyard of backed up nightmare.

"Fuck." Her Uncle Chris turned to them. "Options?"

Her Dad answered, "We can turn back and take the back roads. Longer trip - but maybe if we head for the border - we can put some distance between us and the major cities."

"Canada?"

"I'm thinking yeah."

"Agreed." Chris nodded to Claire.

And someone started screaming.

A man was ripping a woman and her children from the car in front of them. They were all screaming and dying. Faith put her face in her Dad's chest and stopped looking.

Claire backed up fast and whipped the car around. It shot off into the dark while the sounds of screaming and crunching and munching chased them back toward the city.

Claire whispered, "...Chris..."

"I see it."

Faith murmured, afraid to hear the answer, "What is it?"

And her Dad answered, "Raccoon General Hospital is on fire."

Oh god.

Faith gripped him harder.

And the car came to a rolling stop.

Claire whispered, "Shit. SHIT."

Faith lifted her head and the street was jam packed with jackknifed cars and fleeing people. Blood ran red in the dirty cobblestones and was splashed on the buildings like paintballs gone wrong. Chris, low and gruff, instructed, "Back up, Claire, turn around."

"...ok..." Her voice was so small. She hit the reverse, the SUV surged backward while people fell and died - eaten by other people.

She whipped the wheel and gunned the engine. Faith whispered, "I don't want to die, Dad."

And he spoke low and calm, soothing her, "I won't let that happen."

Her Uncle Chris shouted, "CLAIRE!"

She screamed and spun the wheel but it didn't matter.

The big black truck hit their SUV broadside. The world squeal with metal and light. Faith screamed and held on and they flipped upside.

The SUV spun across the pavement like a top, smashing into other abandoned cars. The roof caved in, the windshield shattered in a burst of glass and musical death. The world went red, the world went white, and the engine ticked into the silence as they finally stopped spinning. They were upside down in a broken SUV now. The sounds of screaming, fighting, and fleeing was thick around them.

Faith shifted, still clinging to her Dad.

He was already moving. He was bleeding all over her too.

She shouted, "Dad!" And his face was a mask of blood.

He said, calmly, "I'm fine. It's just a shallow cut on my face. I'm ok. Faith?"

"...y-yes..."

"Check Aunt Claire."

Claire wasn't moving. Chris was already turning to kick out the side window that kept them trapped.

Faith shifted and touched her face. She moaned and opened her eyes. Something on Faith's face made her smile a little and say, "I'm ok, baby. I'm alright. You ok?"

Faith went to say yes and tried to shift her legs. One was twisted up under the seat. Broken.

Very broken.

She moaned and looked at her Dad in horror.

Why didn't it hurt!?

He answered that too, "It's ok, sweetheart. It's adrenaline. It's good right now. It's good actually to keep you from hurting."

Chris reached in to pull her free. Her Dad and her Aunt Claire crawled free after him.

Her Dad carried her in his arms and Claire took his gun.

They started running down the ruined street. Faith put her face against his neck and closed her eyes.

They ran while the world exploded in fear and death around them. People were panicking and fleeing. People were falling and dying. Cars were crashing and flipping. The fire was everywhere.

It was hell on Earth.

Chris called, "This way! Here."

And they moved down a narrow alley. He eased open the door of a bar at the end of the alley and they all ducked inside. The moment they were in, three snarling people hit the door to come after them. Chris threw his body to the door, holding it against the assault.

He shouted, "GO! GO NOW! HURRY! I'll CATCH UP!"

Claire and her Dad listened to him. They left him behind and ran for it. The back door of the bar spilled them out to the field adjacent to the Arklay Mountain Park. They ran between two pieces of broken fence and two people came at them from the shadows. Claire shouted, "Go! I'll cover you!"

Her Dad called back, "There's an ambulance up there. Get to it! We'll head for the mountains."

"Done! GO!"

They ran. Her Dad carried her like she weighed nothing. She clung, shaking. Her leg was starting to hurt.

She whispered, "Daddy...I'm so scared."

"It's ok." He didn't even huff. He was so fast. He shot Jack Baker right between the eyes. He was calm.

What kind of scientist was he!?

"It's ok, baby. We're almost there. Hide your face ok?"

But she saw the man explode out of the trees at them and shrieked, "DADDY!"

He shifted her in his arm and spun a back kick at the man chasing them. Like a ninja, she kept thinking, he moved like a ninja. It threw him into trees, snarling.

The lights of the ambulance were swirling. The back was open and a very dead...or undead...nurse was crawling around on the ground behind it. He was bleeding from his eyes and nose and mouth. He saw them and started moaning and moving for them.

Faith squeaked and watched her Dad kick him in the face, roll him to his back, and stomp his face with a crunch of bone and wet plopping brains. Utterly gross. And like a movie.

She whispered, "What are you, Daddy?"

He went to answer her and two more of them came from the trees. The first one got a hip kick from her Dad that sent it spinning. The second grabbed them and got her hair and a gun went off while she screamed.

It was blown away with a burst of blood. The second was picked off as it raced forward.

And a soldier stood on the hill above them.

Her Dad called, calmly, "Hey! My daughter is hurt! We're not bitten."

"Just...s-stay there ok?" The soldier was in SWAT type combat gear of some kind. He looked scared behind his weird mask he was wearing.

Her Dad said, "Sure guy. Sure. We're not a threat."

The soldier spoke to someone on his headset, "Sir...I've encountered some civvies outside the mountain."

He listened. He jerked like he'd been smacked. "What? No sir. No. Are you sure?"

She felt her Dad tighten. She saw his face go cold. He backed up two steps and said, "We're unarmed."

And the soldier raised his gun on them.

Faith froze, grabbing her Dad so hard it had to hurt him.

The soldier whispered, "I-I-I'm so sorry. I have orders. I'm sorry."

Her Dad shouted, "DON'T!"

He turned so fast. He was SO FAST.

The soldier fired, Faith shouted, "DADDY!", and pain finally hit her.

Her Dad said it would hurt when it finally hit.

It hurt like hell.

They were thrown to the ground. Her Dad dropped her as they went. She was afraid he'd been shot. She cried out and tried to move.

But it wasn't her legs.

And it wasn't her Daddy.

It was her.

The soldier moved up beside them for the coup de grace, "I'm so-"

And another gun went off. Her Uncle Chris shot him in the side of the head at point-blank range.

Faith shifted her hands to her face and they were slick with blood. She panicked now, gasping and jerking, "DADDY!"

And Uncle Chris whispered, "Oh my god...Leon..."

Her Dad grabbed for her. The cold on his face was gone. It was all fear. It was all panic. It was all rage and pain and horror.

"No! Oh god...Oh god...hold on baby...hold on ok? Claire! Get anything, ANYTHING from that damn ambulance! Hurry!" He was pressing on her belly. It hurt so bad.

Faith grabbed his face, crying and gasping. "Daddy? Daddy...it hurts...Daddy?"

And it didn't hurt anymore.

She felt the world shift. She heard him shouting, "CLAIRE! Faith! FAITH! Please...oh god...please no. Please no. Please please please no...stay with me...stay..."

Stay.

But she couldn't stay.

She was already gone.

And the sound of his horrible, horrible, horrible sobbing was the last thing she heard before she went into the dark.  
......................................................................................................................................................................................

A/N: It's not replacing Ellie with Leon. It's just tailoring the story to fit Resident Evil, playing loosely with the Last of Us as the basis, and throwing characters in where it fits.


	3. Something To Die For

Through the Valley:

A Last of Us Inspired Resident Evil Story

Chapter 3:

-Something to Die For –

10 years later  
........

He rolled her beneath him, the smell of her hair like gasoline mixed with lavender. It was pungent, it was perfect somehow, it was visceral and raw.

It was the world they lived in.

His hand scooped under her thigh to open her for him. Naked, his sweaty back was covered in scars and smears of oil. Water wasn't something that was easy to find in the quarantine zones, so bathing was a luxury for people without the means to bargain their way to something better.

There was no real caste system now. It was just the poor and the powerful.

Her hands gripped his narrow hips, hammering the bare length of his dick into her body like she'd kill them both with it. Condoms - not really something you cared about in a world gone to shit. Besides, she'd been barren long before they world had turned post apocalyptic. Knocking her up was the last thing he ever worried about and she liked it raw.

It made her mewl.

His right hand shifted to circle her throat and hold her down. His left hiked her leg higher while her other foot hooked at his calve and anchored. Her nails thrust into his ass, harder, tighter, and drew blood when she came. She did it wetly, cursing, telling him to fuck her harder.

His hand tightened on her throat and cut her off on a small gasp of excitement. She liked that too. Hell, sometimes it was all about feeling anything at all. He brutalized her cunt the way they both liked - fucking her so loud it made the bed jerk and jump on the cracked stained floor.

It was ok. There was a live fire exercise outside. It was so loud, no one would hear her scream anyway.

While she jerked, he pinned her to the bed and ground himself in her so hard it hurt them both. She grunted and jerked him harder against her, and he came in her - shooting ropey strings of cum into her belly while he ground against the walls of her body.

She slapped his ass, urging him on, and hissing, "Yeah? Fill me up, you bastard."

Dirty.

They both were. This was. It was all they had. In a world where they couldn't sleep without one eye open, in a time when the fall of mankind had left them in camps like gypsies, begging for scraps and hiding from death, sometimes a good fuck was the only thing that kept you sane.

They kissed wetly, just once, and she shoved him off her.

He rolled away, onto his back, staring at the ceiling at the filthy ceiling fan that turned sadly. It more limped than spun, showing signs of dusty three inches thick.

Claire strode across the cracked tiles to the counter, naked, picking up the cigarettes there to light one and inhale, sharply.

On the bed, with his dick still half erect and leaking all over his perfect belly, Leon tried to remember when they'd started fucking.

Sometime after they'd been shoved into quarantine camp A-2. Chris had been lucky enough to get out. He was out west running some kind of freedom resistance. Some kind of ragtag group of heroes standing against the government, or what was left, trying to force them all to assimilate.

Claire had stayed behind to make sure Leon didn't off himself. There were some nights he couldn't even remember after Faith had died. He'd been so deep in the bottle, he was surprised he was still alive.

The fall of the world hadn't taken long. What wasn't lost by the end of that first year, was gone by two. America herself imploded. She went down in a blaze of glory, lost in the first wave of walkers and internal corruption. Looting, destruction, murder...it all sky rocketed. Anarchy over ran where the undead failed.

The first to die were the ones who sought peace. Strung up, taken down, dismantled - anything that tried to rise and restore order was quickly obliterated. The last vestige of light had died via the final public broadcast seen round the world. The President of the United States - raped repeatedly by the anarchist group called New World Order - had taken over the oval office and defiled her until she was nothing. The most powerful woman in the Western World reduced to a cum dump for usurpers.

They'd finished with her and fed her to the walkers waiting below the balcony.

They'd done it all on live television.

Before that last broadcast had died off, their leader had informed the world, "We will not stand for false gods. We will show the world where power begins. The time to purge is upon you - rise...or die."

This is the world they lived in.

The first of the camps had resulted from a desperate idea to save the few vestiges the world had to offer. A bartering system replaced money - it was trading goods for goods now. It was ration cards for food. It was rationed to each person in the camp based on need.

Sometimes? Those at the bottom didn't eat for three days.

If you violated the rules in the camps, there was no mercy. You couldn't carry a weapon. You couldn't leave the camp without permission. You couldn't be outside your living area after curfew. Arguing with the "militia" was an immediate cause for getting killed on site.

It was a police state, without question. There was no more democracy. They were living in an internment camp.

He turned his head to look at her pert ass where it leaned over the counter. The first night she'd taken him to bed, he'd been almost at rock bottom. He'd been contemplating the easiest way to simply court death.

It was easy enough in their world. It was opening your mouth to the wrong person and being fed a bullet. If he really wanted to die, he'd have found a way.

She threw that at him like a bullet by the camp fire. She'd knocked the whiskey out of his hand and shoved him back against the tree.

Friends for years, he'd never really looked at her like something you fuck. She just wasn't. She was Chris' sister. She was his pal. When Faith had died, she'd stepped in to keep him alive like some kind of life support system.

She'd gotten down on her knees and blown him in the firelight that night. She'd sucked his cock like she'd draw all the poison from the wound and find him cured beneath it.

It didn't cure him, but it reminded him his body still had needs. Those needs predicated the basis of their entire relationship. They fucked when it suited them, fucked off when it did as well, and made the best of a shitty world.

He'd jerked on her ponytail and stuck his fingers in her, stretching her wide with three of them to ready her for him, and he'd grunted, "I don't want anymore fucking kids, Claire."

She'd gripped his dick in her hand and grunted, "Me either."

He'd drilled her full of fingers and informed her, "I don't like to fuck in a raincoat."

And she'd jerked him with her fist, almost angrily, "Me either. Bareback me. We're safe."

He didn't ask how. He just did it. She'd felt so wet and tight around him that he knew he was going to survive. He could still feel pleasure. He was going to survive.

She'd given him back some kind of hope just by letting him use her.

He'd fucked her standing against that tree that night. He'd covered her mouth with his hand to hold in her cries and told her, "I'm gonna cum in you. You want that?"

She'd nodded, desperately.

It had tightened his balls and finished him off. Still alive. Dead inside maybe, but his body? Still alive.

She'd told him, after, that she was barren. But even if she'd become pregnant, the New World Order would have taken their child when it was born. They recruited and raised all infants born within the quarantine.

It's how they assured their continued allegiance.

They operated quietly behind the scenes of the NWO. It's symbol was everywhere in the quarantine - the red and white umbrella that guaranteed anyone under them was "safe from the storm." Lies. Bullshit. They sold death. They offered vaccines that enslaved you to them. Everyone had a bar code on their fucking neck like traded goods in a grocery.

If you were infected, your bar code flashed red on the scanners and you were put down like a dog.

Safe from the storm...they were the storm. They rained shit down on the world until there was no more hope, no more happiness, just survival and the resistance.

Claire kept trying to get him to leave the camp with her and find Chris. She wanted him to join the resistance. But Leon was against it. He just wanted to live his life and die. He didn't want to sign up for some useless vendetta that would heap more misery on him.

He didn't want to be coerced into the fight.

So Claire stayed behind, waiting him out, building her comrades and trading in goods to build her weapons stockpile just outside the quarantine.

They ventured out most days and were back before curfew. If they ran late, they knew how to get around the city without detection. They had masks to filter out the airborne pathogens and had managed to avoid the "vaccines" given to the citizens by carefully avoiding check points.

When it suited Claire, they bargained for guns with anything they had. She traded ration cards, she traded favors, she traded herself when necessary. He let her. It was the world they lived in.

She wasn't his woman. She was just someone he fucked.

There was no love lost here, they both knew that. It was an arrangement that suited them both.

They were scarred up, shut down, surviving and making the best of it. It wasn't some romance novel where they'd have a baby and hide out in the mountains defying the man and raising it in secret. He was glad she was barren.

He plowed her so deep in the first few months that she'd gotten a bladder infection and had to go to the camp doctor for antibiotics. The little scientist had been concerned, telling Claire, "You're torn down there. Are you being abused?"

Claire had laughed and shaken her head, "It's how we know we're still here." Hard fucking. It was all they had left in this world apparently.

She'd found him later and rode him while pinning his arms behind his back. Apparently, it was how she knew she was alive too.

She poked a cigarette in his mouth and moved to get dressed. The live fire exercise beyond the window was loud and drawing to a close. He rolled his head to look out the dirty window as she spoke, "I need your help. Irving, that little turd, is holding on to my fucking guns. I know it. He didn't deliver them three days ago to the drop. I know he's sold them off to another buyer."

Leon scratched his belly and his balls, shifting his softening dick around. "Ok...so?"

The city was in shambles beyond the window. All dilapidated and run down. It looked like what it was, the last haven of a war torn world. What was still standing was held up with hope and brick. Buildings were half blown up and hollowed out.

Raccoon City, they said, was the last real city standing in the USA.

In the street below their building, three people were being interrogated by the militia. Masked men poked them in the backs where they crouched on their knees, hands behind their heads. They shouted, but you couldn't hear them. Not this far up. Not above the gun fire.

A woman grabbed for the man beside her. She was shot on the spot, falling to her face. The man fought back and was killed right after.

The third man lifted his hands, showing himself unarmed, but they shot him too.

Idiots. You didn't survive by fighting the Umbrella Corps. Everyone knew that.

Claire answered, "I need you to help me find him. I need those guns."

He rolled his head back to look at her. "Why me?"

"You know why. He's fucking terrified of you. After that shit you pulled against all those ganado?"

Of course. He'd survived and lost his mind. The President's only daughter had been surrounded and about to die like her mother had.

He'd apparently channeled some kind of rage he didn't even know he'd possessed. He'd gone apeshit. He'd slaughtered them to save her. It wasn't bravery, it was just trying to vent some of the pain inside him. He'd killed a bunch of infected in a single man showdown like some kind of hero. He'd had one gun and been surrounded. He'd gone toe to toe with one with a chainsaw and obliterated him. He'd stood among their bodies bathed in blood with that roaring chainsaw and become some kind of stupid legend.

It was undeserved. It was driven by rage and grief.

He was just a guy with nothing to lose...he wasn't anyone's hero. But here he was, immortalized.

He was like the reluctant Robin Hood of the resistance. He hated it. He didn't want to be a part of the fight. He'd been dragged in kicking and screaming. He was the face of those still holding on, and he'd never asked to be.

He shrugged, "Fine. You know where to find him?"

She nodded, shifting over to the bed. She was in her jeans and a ragged white t-shirt. Her flat belly shown nicely beneath it. She was braless, and unconcerned about it. She scooped her choppy red hair back in a ragged ponytail.

"The docks. You know he hangs out at the docks. The little piece of shit. I think it's time I offed him and took over his goddamn gun running."

Leon arched a brow at her, "Dangerous game there, Claire. He's on the radar for the Umbrella Corp. You off him, they might sniff you out and start looking."

She shrugged, watching him on the bed. "Maybe it's time to pick a fight."

He held her gaze, "You'll lose. You know that."

"Maybe it's time to go down swinging."

He shook his head, rolling to his feet, "You're a fucking fool to even say it."

She shrugged, shifting as he rose and dressed. He pulled on an old plaid in boxy green and a ragged pair of jeans. His shaggy hair was scooped back by his hands and secured at the base of his neck in a ponytail. Pieces still fell around to frame his jaw.

"What's worth dying for Leon? Anything?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her, answering her shrug with his own, "Freedom isn't free, Claire. It comes with a price. You gonna pay it? For guns?"

"I'm gonna pay it, for all the people counting on me to save them. What else am I doing here, Leon?"

He shrugged again, "You tell me. Why bother? Sneak out and head to Colorado. Meet up with Chris. Fuck these people here, Claire. Not a damn one of them would piss on you if you were on fire."

She sighed, studying his face, "...you would."

He picked up his knife and sheath and secured it to his forearm under the plaid. He glanced at her, holding her gaze, "...maybe. I'd miss fucking you."

She laughed, moving toward the door. "That was like a big hug with words, Kennedy. I'm close to dropping to my back to let you show me how much."

He smirked, shaking his head, and followed her out into the hallway. "I was always a ladies man."

She rolled her eyes, "To whom? You're about as comforting as underpants made out of cactus."

He actually laughed, eyes sparkling, "At least I'd keep on "poking" you."

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. She shook her head and snorted, heading toward the stairs of their shitty building. It was half closed off, half falling down. She passed by people sleeping in the hallway like a crack den, curled under dirty blankets and trying to find warmth.

"No puns. Please? Not today."

He shrugged and followed her across the makeshift bridge to the next building. It was a two-by-four of wood that wobbled as they crossed. If you stepped wrong, you'd plummet eight stories down to your death.

Nobody stepped wrong. They'd been doing this a long time.

Leon followed Claire down the side stairwell toward the main street. She cautioned, as they slipped down the alley behind the tattered building and avoided detection by the UBCS, "Let me do the talking when we find him, ok?"

He shrugged, "I hate that little shit anyway. You know he's the reason Jill is missing."

It was no secret that Jill Valentine had been presumed dead for the last few years. She'd gone missing shortly after the world fell apart. No one knew where she was or what had happened. But the few leads they'd been able to chase had pointed at Ricardo Irving as the source behind her disappearance.

They just needed something to force him to talk.

It would be enough to bring Chris out of hiding as the leader of the resistance and back into the fight.

Leon wasn't sure there was anything out there good enough to do the same for him. He still breathed. He still moved. He fought and bled and fucked and ate, but he felt empty to the point of being numb.

It would take a miracle to bring him back from the dead.

In this world they lived in? It was more likely he'd simply go on being zombie...until he died and came back as one.


End file.
